


Our Little Game

by EricaX



Category: Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EricaX/pseuds/EricaX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle on Big Ben, everyone believes Ratigan to be dead. Yet murders keep happening and everyone is pointing fingers on who’s to blame. Meanwhile, Basil fights his own demons as his past with Ratigan comes to haunt him. Dawson/Basil, Ratigan/Basil</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: R  
> Warnings: violence, hints of slash

Lightning pierced through the sky, illuminating the soggy and dank docks and piers that skirted the shoreline of the River of Thames. Millions of raindrops plopped down into the frigid water’s surface as the water began to shift and ripple as movement disturbed its melancholy.   
Water splashed as a heavy body made its way closer and closer to the muddy grasses and marshes. Trembling claws emerged from the water as the large rat stepped its way further; clenching every now and then from spasms. Deep, shallow and husky breathes could be heard from the creature’s throat, proving its long tiring journey; every now and then a growl escaping from it.   
The sky went bright as another bolt of lightning shot through the sky and Professor Ratigan was able to see his destination more clearly for just that brief moment. The rain poured harder on the rodent’s tattered form, feeling like tiny knifes hitting against his fur and skin; yet his mind was currently too wrapped up on its one source of misery and malcontent.   
For just those few moments he had had victory. After so many years of fighting to get it, it had been taken from him in a matter of moments; all thanks to the sheer luck of that pathetic pipsqueak. Oh, how his fury ran through his veins at the sheer memory of his failure! To have allowed himself to be outwitted!  
The very fact that the miserable excuse of a mouse had not fallen alongside him proves he had succeeded in using the bicycle part of his dirigible to manage an escape from death itself. Only thanks to his own luck had he managed to survive the fall and manage into the river.   
The ferocious rat stepped further out of the water in his bare paws; having lost his shiny and expensive shoes somewhere between Big Ben and the fall. No matter; they were trivial things. He continued walking, glaring straight ahead of him and gasping in both exhaustion and outrage. He didn’t care that his clothes were far beyond repair, no longer recognizable since they were now rags that clung to his wet and filthy fur. His tail slunk behind him like a snake in the grass.   
Several yards away, hidden behind one of the many piers, a cat hollered out; yet Ratigan paid no mind to it. In the state he was in, he could kill anything that crossed his path. All he cared about was getting out of that river and finding the best way to find revenge on that no good detective.   
Oh, how he longed to wrap his claws around that mouse’s throat and tear it to shreds! How he yearned to have another go at that detective and kill him properly!   
That was just his initial reaction though. If Ratigan was truly honest with himself, he knew he would never be able to permanently murder Basil of Baker Street in such a sadistic way. No. What had happened on Big Ben had been a loss of control. Being there, in the moment; he had thrashed and sliced at Basil’s tiny and frail body to the point where he was clinging for dear life. In that moment in time, Ratigan had allowed himself to be completely taken over by his instincts; finally unleashing the beast within him which he forced back deep inside him time and time again for so many long years. He had worked so hard to plan out the Queen’s demise and finally manage to take over Mousedom and for Basil to come out of nowhere, after having made sure to cover his tracks so well, he had lost all control and had wanted to kill him for daring to cross him.   
Death was too kind, in his opinion; especially a death Basil would have met on Big Ben had things gone different. Simply dying took the fun out of it and if Ratigan was truly honest with himself, he would never know what to do with himself if Basil was ever taken from the world.   
Basil of Baker Street was the only mouse ever to oppose him; ever to be of any true threat to him….and it fascinated him! He didn’t understand how such a pitiful excuse for a mouse could have such a quick wit and daring boldness to stand up to him! To have sophistication and knowledge that matched his own. Not having Basil there trying to catch his shadow everywhere he went would be unbearable. Especially after once getting to have the pleasure of tasting what the brilliant detective tasted like. In that first moment of unhinged madness, the lack of control he had showed Basil long before the events on Big Ben, Ratigan had been able to feel the other rodent’s lips on his own and it had been pure nirvana to him. There had been other brief encounters between them. Touches, sparks, gestures, strokes. All of which came from Ratigan and his moments of uncontrollable want.   
It was now an ache he occasionally felt within him whenever he was in Basil’s presence, though it was one he was sure to keep to himself; heavily locked inside him. It was a secret the two of them shared, something only they knew about; something that they would forever share. A bond, of sorts; yet not in the sentimental way. Ratigan could not be sure, but he had concluded that Basil kept it to himself as well. Not only for the awkward and disgusting acceptance of it, but for the acknowledgement that Basil also had a wicked side. Once, after having been claimed roughly by the lips, Basil had pushed him away in the best way he could since he was so much physically weaker than the rat. He had brought out his claws; the same claws the mouse refuses to use since he didn’t believe in using violence, and struck him straight across the chest, slashing him bloody and managing to worm his way out. The large rat still carried those scars on his chest, though they were deeply hidden by fur and the classy suits he always wore.   
It had been so unlike Basil, so uncharacteristic. Then again, he always had been able to bring out the worst in Basil. The detective always squirmed in his presence after that first kiss. Oh, the hatred that poured off that mouse’s frame. He made Basil uncomfortable, though one could easily say any sort of social meeting made him that way, and Ratigan almost had to laugh at the idea of it. Basil of Baker Street would forever be his treasure; his opponent in the game, his constant reminder that there was one other individual out there who was clever enough to keep Ratigan on his toes.   
The rain continued to pour down harder than ever on the rat and yet the seething rodent ignored the elements of the weather, never stopping his walk until he was once again in the familiar decay of the sewers below the Rat Trap.   
The sewers were in full operation due to the storm that was forcefully making its way through, leaving the sewers more disgusting and grimy than usual. Puddles littered the stone floor as Ratigan walked closer to the wine barrels that created his living quarters. Ratigan’s body continued to heave and his breathing never ceased being clouded with fury and aggression as he stepped before the pitiful sight that were his henchmen.   
Apparently, after having left the Queen’s Palace, his henchman made themselves comfortable by cowering back into the sewers and cracking open whatever bottles of alcohol they could pour down their throats.   
Ratigan scowled down at the thieves and crooks he considered his henchman as they lay scattered on the cement floor half asleep and drunken out of their minds. He followed the trail of henchman into the wine barrel that had been painted with a large ‘R’ and was even more displeased to find more of his henchman lying about on the floor and along the fountain of champagne.   
One of them hiccupped themselves into a more wakened state and the male mouse’s eyes landed on Ratigan, whose wake was enough to shatter anyone’s nerves. Ratigan looked like he had just been dragged to Hell and then spat back out. He was dripping wet with more than just river water. A thin line of red liquid was dripping down into the floor along with the rest of the water falling from him. By this time, Ratigan had regained a bit more of his breath and lost a slight fraction of his initially haggard breath, though his chest still rose and fell violently.   
Ratigan’s face was contorted into a vicious snarl, his sharp teeth no longer being hidden by his usual smug or quirky smile. His nose flared, his stared down at the male mouse who was sober enough to take note of his presence.   
“B-B-B-Boss!” he squeaked fretfully. He was wearing a red knitted sweater with a navy blue hat, which toppled off his head due to his incessant trembling. He turned his head ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving Ratigan, to call over to the others. “L-L-Look boys! It’s the boss! H-He’s returned!” He said this loudly, hoping that everyone would pay attention for fear of angering Ratigan. Two of the mice who had been dressed in soldier uniforms snapped their eyes open at the revelation that Ratigan was back. They knew very well that Basil had managed to break free from their trap and ruin Ratigan’s plans, yet they had lost track of their boss after he had run off with the girl. Judging by Ratigan’s reappearance, things did not go according to plan.   
The two mice quickly stood, swaggering greatly as they did so. They saluted to him, their dulled minds working slower than usual. “Boss!” they cried out in unison. They too began to tremble, clutching onto each other after Ratigan pushed past them, slowly walking like a dead corpse until he stood before the hearth that rested on the left side of the room. He disregarded them, his eyes flashing over the small limp doll that was meant to be a voodoo doll of sorts in the shape of Basil.   
Ratigan picked up the doll and handled it tenderly between his claws, staring at it with an impassive expression. Several needles had been struck through the tiny doll’s soft material in a vain hope that Basil would feel the pain in real life at one time. That didn’t matter now. Ratigan slowly started removing the needles while his henchman anxiously stood around him; having awakened from their drunken stupors enough to know they should pay attention in case he beckoned any of them.   
After several long, agonizing minutes of watching their boss play with the doll of his arch-nemesis, one of them gulped loudly in fear; wringing his hat in his hands, and took a step toward Ratigan. “Oi….B-Boss, eh….So….what happened---Last time we’s seen you—Basil was—“   
The poor mouse never had a chance to finish, for Ratigan’s arm jutted out as quick as a flash, his claw wrapping around his fat neck instantly and draining all the air out of the rodent’s lungs. The thug’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped in mid scream as he grasped at Ratigan’s hand to try to get away. Ratigan twisted his wrist ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving the doll, and the henchman’s body went limp after a sickening snap echoed throughout the room.   
Terror spread throughout the other rodents in the room, some of them close to tears, others having to look away in hopes they didn’t get sick. Ratigan finally turned to them, scowling. “No one is ever to say that mouse’s name in my presence…” he snarled behind gritted teeth, his voice deep with ire. “Only I am allowed to say his name. Understand?!”   
The other mice nodded and mumbled their agreement as they stumbled backwards in their attempt to move closer to the exit. They knew Ratigan had always had a strange, fascination or obsession over the clever detective, though none of them had ever thought the great rat would ever ask such a request. Something obviously had happened that night; something none of them would ever comprehend. The last they had heard was that Ratigan had disappeared and that Basil of Baker Street had successfully saved the queen and chased Ratigan away. The details were clearly lacking; though surely within the days’ time, everything will be figured out in time for the morning paper.   
Ratigan could simply do nothing but stare at the doll in his hands. He had lost. His victory had been false. He had let his guard down too quickly. Blast that clock to Hell! It was such a disgrace to know one had been beaten in such a way. Oh, yes. Basil would be his soon enough. He was not going to make any more mistakes. With a bloody claw, Ratigan traced a line of red across the little doll’s face, a devilish smile appearing on his face.   
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Outside the storm still continued to rage, the streets of Baker Street quickly flooding. No human dared be outside at this time of night, especially in this nasty of a storm. This allowed the two male mice to run even quicker to the safe walls of 221 ½ Baker Street. Their feet splashing in the puddles under them, Dawson and Mr. Flaversham carried the despondent mouse between them, each holding him up by an arm pit.   
Dr. Dawson no longer cared about his appearance as he previously had hours ago and feared for the live of his new friend, Basil the Great Mouse Detective. Having been overjoyed at the sight of the detective still alive thanks to the refuge of the dirigible, they had reached out and brought him aboard their make-shift air craft. Basil had smiled weakly at them, trembling terribly and after receiving hugs from everyone; most especially little Olivia, Basil had passed out, much to their dismay. Fearing for their friend’s life, they landed the match box and gave freedom to the balloons before rushing their friend to safety. The blood that had soaked through the match box did not make them feel any better.   
Little Olivia had tears in her eyes as she ran alongside her father and Dr. Dawson, fussing over the detective’s health. With a hand held tightly over her hat, she ran, hoping for the best. The guilt that was currently running through her was something the small child had never before experienced and it scared her even more. Although Basil had not been the friendliest of sorts to her when they first met, she couldn’t help but feel attached to him; looking up to him a great deal. Having heard great stories about the wondrous mysteries Basil had solved, she had grown to idolize him. She would hate to be the reason for the great investigator’s downfall.   
“Hurry! Hurry!” she ushered her father and the doctor after having run a ways ahead of them. The door to 221 ½ Baker Street was only a few yards away.   
Panting from having run most of the way, Flaversham and Dawson were grateful to see the front door and pushed themselves inside after Olivia had knocked on the door and had Mrs. Judson open it.   
To say the landlady’s cry of despair at the sight of her dear tenant was heart breaking would have been an understatement. “Oh, my! Oh—Oh, my goodness!” she wailed. She pushed away some of the stray hairs coming down into her face as she quickly bustled into the other room in search of proper first aid and to get some bath water running.   
Basil’s head lolled back and forth as they walked him over to the green couch that was in front room, deciding it would be more proper to place him somewhere he could lie down rather than his favorite red chair in front of the fire. Dawson immediately started looking over the other mouse, his frown deepening by the minute. Ratigan had certainly done a right job thrashing and slicing Basil up. His legs seemed to be the least affected. It was mainly Basil’s arms, back, and torso that had received the most amount of damage.   
After having placed Basil on the couch, Flaversham didn’t quite know what to do with himself and simply took several feet back to allow the doctor more space. He was out of his element; he didn’t know how to handle these types of situations. It was a miracle David Q. Dawson was a military doctor and therefore knew precisely what he had to do. Flaversham flinched, having been staring at Basil on the couch, when Olivia grabbed hold of her father’s hand and wrapped her small arms around his waist. “Daddy?”   
“Yes, my precious?”   
Olivia sniffed, clearly on the verge of tears. “I-Is—Mr. Basil going to be alright?”   
Flaversham sighed and pulled her closer. He wish he knew the answer, but for the time being he knew they would all just have to be hopeful. “I don’t know, dearest…..But hopefully he will be…”   
Dawson opened his mouth to speak comforting words to them, having heard their brief conversation, when Basil let out a low moan from where he was lying. The detective shuddered before shifting slightly on the couch, his tail twitching in agony as his wounds stung and he was reminded of the bloody scratches that were covering his upper body. “Ooh…” he groaned with a wince. His blearily opened his eyes, noting that everything was blurry and that he was seeing double. His breath came in uneven breaths. “D-Dawson--?”   
Dawson stepped forward so that he was in Basil’s line of sight. “Yes, Basil. It’s me. Try not to move overly much, my dear boy. I say you’ve had a nasty plight with that Ratigan this night and I must quickly tend to your wounds.”   
“Ratigan--?” gasped Basil anxiously.   
“He’s gone. He fell off Big Ben. Don’t you remember?”   
“Vaguely…” muttered Basil miserably, placing a hand over his eyes.   
Mrs. Judson chose this moment to come back with some first aid supplies; something the doctor was most happy to see, but he had another idea. “Uh, Mrs. Judson…perhaps before we go straight to bandaging dear Basil up, we should first give him a proper bath.”   
Mrs. Judson thought it over for a moment before nodding her head. “Yes, perhaps that would be best.” She glanced down at Basil and saw the wretched state her favorite tenant was in. “I dare say he needs one…I’ve started one already for him.”   
Basil, who was fighting to keep himself conscious, pulled his hand away from his eyes. “Do what you want…” he sighed desolately and dramatically. “Just make the pain stop…” Everyone stared at Basil. This was certainly a rare sight, to see Basil in such a vulnerable state. Basil could hear as the others continued to speak, but his mind was on different matters; particularly the scoundrel he had been trying to catch and place behind bars for years now.   
He had stopped him; he had finally gotten the upper hand and halted Ratigan from getting away with his evil plot. He couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly as he felt Mr. Flaversham and Dr. Dawson gently pick him up once more and start dragging him into the bathroom where Mrs. Judson had obviously prepared some nice hot bath water. His body felt so devoid of energy as they carried him under his arms into the bathtub.   
“Do you think you can stand, Basil?” came Dawson’s voice close to Basil’s ear. The detective nearly flinched at the closeness from it. He glanced around his surroundings to find they were already in the bathroom and Mrs. Judson was busying herself with the tub and making sure all the soaps and herbal remedies were prepared for Dawson. It was a quaint bathroom that matched the rest of the flat, filled to the brim with frilly decorations; courtesy of the landlady’s insistence.   
Basil nodded and felt Mr. Flaversham and Dawson drop him to his feet, where he unsteadily wavered. He kept his arms on Flaversham’s shoulder, ignoring the ineptness of the gesture; the two of them never had properly met after all. The toymaker, however, seemed ignorant of Basil’s uneasiness and smiled warmly at him behind his red tinted mustache. “I know this might not be the best time….but I must thank you Mr. Basil…”   
Basil wearily gave a wan smile at the toymaker before turning his attention to the bathtub. He didn’t feel like speaking; his body hurt too much and his mind was currently going to top speed. He simply couldn’t get over the fact that Ratigan had fallen. There was a part of him that believed him to still be alive. After so many years of trying to catch the fiend and now suddenly realizing deep in the vastness of his mind that Ratigan was gone was hard to grasp. He knew it was a case of denial but denial was often a person’s way of dealing.   
Dawson began helping Basil out of his clothes. As he was stripped of his clothing, a part of him felt the need to shoo everyone away. He was a private person, to say the least, and having so many in the room when he was in such a state was not something he cared for. Yet he said nothing as he held onto Flaversham and pulled off his trousers.   
“Look at all that blood!” fretted Mrs. Judson as she looked down at the wood flooring. God bless that woman for a distraction from his bareness. It was true though: Basil was leaving behind a thin trail of his own blood. He had his deeper cuts to thank for that. The land lady’s face was pale and she looked about ready to faint as she waved a hand in front of her face. “We’ll have to clean this up immediately!”   
Dawson, who had been guiding Basil over to the bathtub, turned his head back to look at her. “Now is not the time to worry about the floor, Mrs. Judson” he reprimanded her lightly. He blushed and quickly turned his voice to an apologetic one. “I am sorry, my dear. I know this is your flat—“   
Basil tuned out the rest of the conversation as he slowly climbed into the bathtub, hissing in pain as the hot water touched his wounds. As he dipped himself further in, he cried out in pain. The scratches on his arms were even worse than the ones on his chest and back. Nonetheless, he sunk himself into the hot water until it nearly came to his shoulders. He curled himself up into a tight ball and closed his eyes tightly.   
He could feel the pain from the rat’s claws as though Ratigan was there before him still thrashing at him. Basil’s ears fell flat against his head as he tried his best to ignore the pain.   
“There is no escaping this time, Basil.”  
Ratigan’s words rang through his mind as he was suddenly able to feel the pouring rain against his fur and the winds whipping around them. The fear that had clutched his heart after seeing how high up they were on the clock. He let out short, sharp cry and nearly upset the whole bathtub when he felt someone’s hand upon his shoulder. His eyes shot open and he looked to find it was only Dawson.   
“Basil, relax…” he said soothingly. Being a military doctor, Dawson had seen many patients tense up and re-live their horror so soon after it was over. “Now, don’t be alarmed. I am only going to take some of this herbal soap and start cleaning up some of your cuts. Would you mind giving me your right arm? I will start there. You just relax and breathe. You have been through a horrible ordeal.”   
Basil raised his right arm for Dawson to inspect and he cringed as the herbal soap wiped away the dry and fresh blood from his wounds. Biting his bottom lip to avoid from screaming and scaring his new friends, Basil sank deep into the caresses of his mind. He thought back to all the crimes Ratigan had committed and all the times he had been so close to capture him before now. Yet before his mind could go too much further, the mouse couldn’t help but think of the worst and filthiest crime Ratigan had committed.   
Yes, he could still feel those ice cold hands on his body, clutching to him tightly so that he wouldn’t manage to break free. He could feel those dark eyes meet with his own green ones, those smirking lips cackle before leaning forward and snatching the innocence away from Basil in a rapt desire of a kiss. It was at that moment that Basil had realized just how low Ratigan was willing to lower himself, forcing him to use the claws he wished never to use. He would never be able to forget the satisfaction he had felt when he heard Ratigan’s gasp of disbelief and growl of anger as the blood from his new found scratches soaked through his suit. Never again has Basil ever used his claws; nor did he ever wish to. He was above violence and using it would only bring him down to the rat’s level and cause him to forever hold an air of hypocrisy.   
‘There is no evil scheme he wouldn’t concoct! No depravity he wouldn’t commit!’  
Basil remembered the very words he had uttered to Dawson and Olivia only hours ago as he described Ratigan and his evilness. He could feel bile come up into his chest as he remembered the wicked sin the rat had made that night. Not entirely for the action of kissing Basil, a fellow male mouse, but for the reason that they were arch enemies. Basil never had a care for who loved who, male or female; for love was always a weak spot when it came to his brilliance. It was never something he would ever be able to fully understand in his logical mind, yet for Ratigan to treat him in such a way made his blood boil. How he wished he could rid himself of the incidences between them.   
“Stop thinking so hard, Basil” came the caring voice of Dr. Dawson.   
Ah, yes, that was right; he wasn’t alone.   
Basil opened his eyes and found that his sense of touch had left him momentarily in his time of deep thinking, for Dawson was now cleaning the wounds of his upper back. He grunted a bit. “Please, Dawson…..Attempt to be a bit gentler…” he spat. He immediately regretted it. The poor fellow was only trying to help him. Had it not been for him and Flaversham, he would still be out in the rain bleeding to death. He opened his mouth in hopes an apology would come out. He spoke in a softer tone, “Dawson—I’m—“   
“It’s alright, Basil” replied Dawson, failing to hide all the hurt from his voice. “I understand you’re in pain. I will try my best to be more gentle.” True to his words, he rubbed at Basil’s back softer than before.   
“I know but—You are helping me----It’s not right of me to snap that way” conceded the detective as his ears bent down in embarrassment.   
“Consider it forgotten, dear boy” responded Dawson in a more cheerful voice. He pulled the soapy wash cloth away from him and rinsed it out; not caring at all for all the blood coming out from it. He placed some more soap on the rag before continuing. This was truly a strange situation he had gotten himself into. It had not even be twelve hours after coming home from Afghanistan in hopes to find some peace and quiet and already he found himself using his doctoral skills for not just any mouse, but the world famous Basil of Baker Street.   
Dawson openly admitted that he had never heard of Basil before coming to London just hours ago. If he was entirely honest with himself, though, he was grateful he had. He found the detective most intriguing and despite some of Basil’s obvious social flaws, he found the other mouse to be quite good company. Though it certainly gave his heart a staggering jolt as he watched Basil’s eccentric and dramatic antics, he found the mouse to be quite endearing.   
Who would ever have guessed he would be found on Basil of Baker Street’s bathroom tending to the detective’s wounds while wearing an atrocious drunken pirate costume? Dawson couldn’t help but chuckle at the revelation. Fate surely was a peculiar thing.   
“Alright, Basil, I’ll let you finish cleaning yourself up” announced the doctor after several long minutes of helping his friend wash up. He wrung the washcloth out and handed it to his friend who resignedly accepted it. “I’ll just give you some privacy. Take your time and relax. I’ll be in to check on you in a few minutes so we can put some salves and ointments on your cuts and bandage you up, alright?”   
“Thank you, Dawson” mumbled the detective before taking the wash cloth. He waited until the doctor left before promptly washing himself.   
Dawson shut the door behind him and gave a large sigh. When his eyes landed on the room before him he could see an anxious Olivia holding tightly to her father’s hand. “Is Mr. Basil going to be alright?”   
Dawson nodded as he smiled down at her. “He’s going to be just fine, my dear.” Olivia nodded though her little heart wouldn’t fully believe him until she saw Basil up and walking again herself.   
While Basil was finishing his bath, Dawson took this time to finally change out of the intolerable costume he had been forced to wear and back into his comfortable slacks and dress shirt. He didn’t bother with his coat. Olivia was entertained by Flaversham and Mrs. Judson as they fed the girl some cheese crumpets and the land lady showed her some of her old photos of her family. Dawson was sitting quietly in the green chair in front of the fire, his mind elsewhere as they waited.   
Unbeknownst to them, Basil was just now getting out of the tub, his sluggish movements from both pain and from his deep thoughts. He couldn’t help but look down at his battered body as he dressed himself in his red robe and stare at all the fresh scars there would be no thanks to Ratigan. He pulled the robe close to himself, feeling the chill of the room since his fur was still damp. For so many years he has tried to capture that madman and it seemed all but surreal that he was suddenly….gone.   
‘The horror of my every waking moment!’  
Ratigan had certainly been that. Perhaps it was simply because Ratigan’s death had just happened, but Basil found himself in doubt that he was truly gone. There was nagging in back of his brain that said he shouldn’t let his guard down. Basil shook his head and dismissed all these thoughts and opened the door.   
Hearing the door open, Dawson quickly snapped out of meditations and stood, walking to his friend’s aid. “How are you feeling?”   
Basil considered the question before answering. “As though I was run over by a carriage…”   
Dawson winced as he guided his friend over to the couch. “Well, come this way and we’ll bandage you up.” Basil followed him back over to the couch and sat down, only to be interrogated by a distressed Olivia.   
“Mr. Basil!” cried the child as she rushed over to the detective. She stopped before him, placing a hand on his knee. “Mr. Basil, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?!”   
Basil, though he felt like shouting at her, smiled warmly down at her. “I’ve been better, my dear, but please; do not worry yourself over me. I was up against Ratigan and I was expecting no less from the sewer rat he is!”   
“You say that as though you’ve been torn up by him before” commented Dawson as he sat down next to his friend and started placing ointments on some of the scratches on Basil’s arm after pulling up his sleeve.   
Basil hissed in pain as the ointment did its job, his tail going ramrod straight momentarily. “Well---Perhaps not to this extent—“   
“Oh, he’s been bullied and tormented by that rat ever since I’ve known him” huffed Mrs. Judson. “So many times he would come back from a case and be so worked up---“ she paused as she noted everyone’s expressions. “Not all wounds are visible, my dears…” She turned her gaze sharply at Basil, who met her gaze without hesitation. He stared hard at her and the landlady knew not to push her luck any further on the discussion.   
As Dawson continued to work on Basil’s wounds, the detective found himself becoming more and more drowsy by the minute. By the time the doctor was finished, Basil was practically asleep on the couch, having leaned back into its cushions.   
He didn’t want to think any more…..  
Images of Ratigan continued to plague him and he just wanted it to stop. He heard Mrs. Judson take the Flavershams into the other room to sleep and mentioned something about where Dawson would be sleeping. Just as the land lady was about to reply, Basil’s hand shot out to grasp Dawson’s sleeve. “Dawson--!!”   
“Yes?”   
He pulled a bit at Dawson’s sleeve. He enjoyed the doctor’s presence; he had ever since he first laid eyes on him. There was something about the older doctor that put him at ease. He found himself subconsciously drawn to the doctor and even after only minutes of being with him, felt the need to have him accompany him wherever he went. “Stay here, would you, old chap?” His voice was weak and tired for he was hardly awake. All he knew was that he didn’t wish to be alone.   
Dawson contemplated his request, throwing Mrs. Judson a curious look before turning back to his worn friend. He shifted his weight on both feet before finally saying, “Well, I suppose that’s something I could manage.”   
Basil smiled at that and let go of his sleeve. Mrs. Judson brought out some pillows and blankets and the two mice settled onto the couch. Basil ended up resting against Dawson, using him as a pillow. When Mrs. Judson opened her mouth to reprimand him, Dawson merely said, “Don’t fuss over it. He’s fine. I don’t mind it.”   
Mrs. Judson just shook her head, finding another matter to fuss over. “Well, I would have more pillows for you had Mr. Basil not found it fitting to ruin them earlier today. Shooting a gun at my fine pillows, honestly!” She walked out of the room, still in a tizzy and leaving Dawson chuckling.   
Basil hid his face in Dawson’s arm. “What a thing to fret over…” he muttered darkly. It seemed Basil was finally able to get some proper rest, his wounds finally taking its last toll on his body. It was a relief to know Ratigan was gone, though he wished that nagging feeling in the back of his mind would go away. He wanted to move on. To what he wasn’t quite sure--- What do you do after you accomplish a goal you’ve dedicated so many years on? He didn’t want to think about it now. Instead he buried himself further into Dawson’s side and slowly fell asleep.   
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Author’s Note: Well, here is the prologue to my very first GMD fanfiction. I certainly hope it was good and that everyone was in character. Please review and let me know what you all think! --EricaX


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is chapter 2. Originally this was going to be chapter 1, since the first ‘chapter’ I posted was the prologue, but I have since then changed my plans for this story and now it was simply the first chapter. Sorry for any and all confusion concerning that. And also sorry for the late update!

Dr. Dawson slowly began to wake up thanks to the tingling feeling in his left arm. It was persistent enough to wake him from the dreams he would never remember having. His arm had fallen asleep at some point and it took the doctor the longest time to figure out why. His eyebrows knitted together as he fought through the layers of sleep and was brought closer to reality. As his senses came back to him he was able to smell the scent of tobacco smoke that was lightly mixed with the soft aroma of lilac. That was certainly a strange revelation to the doctor since he did not recall being in a place where there was tobacco smoke.   
It was then that his mind seemed to wake up. Questions started running through his mind. Where was he? He wracked his brain trying to remember. He remembered heading back to London after having served the military in Afghanistan. Then he had found the little girl in the old shoe left by humans while walking by in the rain under his umbrella. The girl had cried and told him she needed to find---  
Basil!  
Dawson’s eyes snapped open as memories started to flow through his mind. Once his vision cleared from his sleepiness, he glanced around him and found that he was sitting in Basil’s little home at Baker Street 221 ½. He was lying on the green couch in the living room across from the fireplace. The same organized chaos he had first seen when he walked inside the day before with Olivia. He was still amazed by all the papers and random objects strewn about the place as though that was where everything belonged. The fire was lit idly at the fireplace, clearly showing it has been while since anyone had attended to it.   
The tingling sensation in his arm seemed to bring him back to reality for it was now becoming quite uncomfortable. He tried to sit up and shift his arm around to get the blood flowing through it again, only to find that he couldn’t. There seemed to be something lying on his arm that was preventing him from moving from his spot. The doctor glanced over and found what the problem was.   
Basil, the Great Mouse Detective, was curled up against him, half hidden in the blankets Mrs. Judson had insisted on covering him up in earlier that night. His nose was half buried into Dawson’s arm, which would certainly explain why the good doctor’s arm was asleep.   
Dawson couldn’t help but smile at the mouse beside him. His new friend was certainly one of a kind. Though Dawson’s smile quickly turned to a frown when he noticed some of the bandages wrapped tightly around the detective’s shoulder and noted that small stains of blood had soaked through some of the bandages. Those were from the deeper cuts Basil had obtained during the battle. He was going to have to change Basil’s bandages the moment he got the chance. He knew he could easily wake up Basil and do it now, but he feared of waking his friend.   
Dawson had met a lot of people in his days and he could tell when a person refused sleep as much as possible; he couldn’t imagine Basil being the type to drop everything he was working on to simply go and sleep deep into the night. He wouldn’t even be surprised if Mrs. Judson were to tell him this was the first time Basil had slept properly in weeks.   
The tingling in his arm was truly starting to bother him though and Dawson bit back the urge to groan in concern that he would wake his slumbering friend. Yet his worry seemed unnecessary for at that moment Basil started shifting restlessly in his sleep as though he was trying to fight something off in his mind; kicking at the blankets that were covering him and causing them to fall off over his arms and falling to a heap on the wooden floor.   
“…No—“ grunted the smaller mouse as he started twisting and turning in place. His body soon began to tremble as the night terror increased. Dawson opened his mouth to say something when Basil spoke again. “Get away from me—“   
Dawson flinched back at his words and it took him a moment to realize that Basil was not referring to him, but whatever monster was currently torturing him in his nightmare. Basil’s hands twitched where they lay on the couch.   
Dawson sighed; he had hoped Basil would manage to get a bit more rest than that. He took his free arm and rested it on Basil’s shoulder, not caring for how much his friend was shaking. “Basil……Basil!” he called to him gently. He gave him a good, soft nudge. “Basil, dear boy. I say, wake up!”   
Basil groaned before his eyes suddenly snapped open. He gave out a sharp cry and sprung backwards until he was on the other side of the couch. He panted as he looked around himself and found that he was safely in his own home. Basil looked ahead to see a startled Dawson staring at him with distress evident in his gentle eyes. Slowly, his trembling dissolved into occasional nervous twitches of his tail. “Dawson….” It was not a question.   
The doctor nodded as he forced a small smile on his round face. “Yes, dear boy, it is I. I am sorry to have woken you, but you were suffering from quite a nightmare.”   
Basil, who had been scanning his green eyes around the room and over the fireplace and running a bandaged hand through the bushy fur on his head, looked up at Dawson with a frown. “Nightmare?”   
Dawson nodded as he sat up a bit straighter in his spot on the couch and flexed his left arm about in hopes to bring back some blood flow to it. The tingling was slowly dissolving, leaving a dull pain behind. “Yes…” he began uncertainly. “You appeared to be frightened and were starting to toss and turn in your sleep.”   
Basil didn’t say anything, just scratched the back of his neck, only to run his hands by accident over some of the bandages on his shoulders. He looked and picked at them listlessly. Dawson waited a moment before continuing. “Might I ask you what you were dreaming about?”   
“I would rather not relive it, Dawson” replied Basil tonelessly.   
Dawson nodded sympathetically. “I understand…”  
Basil sighed and placed a hand over his eyes. He didn’t want to think about the nightmare; it was something that has haunted him for a long time. He should have known it would disturb his sleep the night after Ratigan’s supposed demise. A shiver ran down the thin mouse’s spine as he remembered the night before. He sat there on his lower legs and pulled the blankets back over his lap. “I want my violin, old chap….Could you get it for me? It should be on the red chair over there.” He pulled his legs out from under him and sunk deeper into the cushions of the couch. He would feel so much better once he was able to sink himself into the poignant and soothing notes of his precious violin. They always had a strange way of calming his nerves in any situation.   
Dawson gladly stood up, feeling a pain in his knees from having been sitting in the same place for such a long time. It was an excuse to get his lethargic body moving. He stretched a bit and walked over to the red chair where he remembered seeing his friend last hold it. He frowned though as he remembered the events of the previous day and his suspicion was confirmed when he found the broken violin sitting there. Dawson bit his lower lip as he glanced worriedly over to Basil, who currently had his head back against the cushions and hand over his face. He would have to break the news as gently as possible.   
“Uhh….Basil?”   
“What is it, dear chum?”   
Dawson wrung his hands together nervously; he wasn’t sure how to handle this. He opened and closed his mouth several times before saying, “It’s….broken….” He paused and waited for his friend’s reaction. He watched as Basil’s hand flew away from his face and his eyes snapped widely open. “You….accidently sat on it yesterday……remember?”   
Basil just sat there for a long moment before finally reacting. “CONFOUND IT!!!!” he screamed. “Must I be deprived of my greatest comfort?!”   
“Now, now Basil. It’s not as bad as all that” assured Dawson in a comforting tone as he walked back over to the couch. He watched as Basil curled up under the blankets and pushed himself deeper into the couch. Dawson sighed, knowing Basil was slipping into another one of his depressions. This was the third one he had seen in just the past few hours of knowing him. The first one was when they had first met and the bullets did not match and the second one, albeit much more severe, was when they had fallen into Ratigan’s trap. It was occurring to him that these depressions were often frequent. The good doctor rested a hand on Basil’s knee, patting it supportively. “Why don’t you try going back to sleep for a while? Judging by the lack of sunlight outside, it’s still early morning. And I dare say you could use the rest.”   
“Insomnia is all I would get for my trouble…” mumbled Basil.   
Dawon’s eyebrows raised at this comment. “Insomnia? Is that something you have to deal with often?”  
Basil took in a long exaggerated breath as he turned his eyes to the ceiling. “There is a reason why I sleep as little as I do.”   
Dawson nodded slowly, finally knowing that he had been correct in assuming his friend got very little sleep on a day to day basis. “Well, just try, Basil. For my sake. I’m worried about you. You’re still healing and sleep will help you. Along with food.”   
Basil groaned as he pulled the blankets closer to himself and stared out in front of him. “You’re sounding more and more like Mrs. Judson by the minute!”   
Dawson slumped his shoulders in defeat. “Well, at least let me see to your wounds. I can tell just by looking that some of them need to be changed. And it wouldn’t be a bad idea to re-apply some ointments while I’m at it.”   
Basil didn’t reply, instead he simply watched as Dawson walked over to the other side of the room and started collecting the first aid that Mrs. Judson had left out the night before.   
Dawson gathered all the medical supplies he figured he would need before turning back to the sulking Basil who was still curled up on the couch glaring out at the world with his sharp green eyes.   
“Dear boy, I don’t understand what has you so upset” commented Dawson as he set the supplies down on the couch opposite of Basil. The detective watched him with bored eyes. “You defeated your ultimate enemy! I believe you called him the ‘Napoleon of Crime’!” Basil raised an eyebrow, yet said nothing. Dawson decided it would be best to simply continue on with his thoughts. “I must say—Ratigan did seem like everything you said he was. Nasty fellow.” The good doctor didn’t fail to notice the flinch Basil gave when Ratigan’s name was spoken. “Basil?”  
Basil’s ears bent back as a saddened frown appeared on his face. “Dawson, old chap?”   
“Yes, Basil?”  
Basil didn’t reply at first, his mind going lost in his thoughts. He didn’t want to think of Ratigan, yet he knew there was no way around it. Thinking of Ratigan and his supposed death, Basil found his mind go slightly cloudy and confused. He could still see the smug smile that boiled his blood in fury. The crimes that rat had committed would not be forgotten easily. In his brilliant mind, he could recall every last mystery he had solved that had been connected, in some way, to Ratigan. At last, Basil croaked, “Never mind…”   
Dawson watched the younger mouse with great concern. He opened his mouth to say something, yet caught himself. It wasn’t his place. He had just met the mouse less than a day ago; he had no right to go and pry into the detective’s life and start telling him what was right and wrong for him to do. He had no right to inform Basil that he shouldn’t keep things bottled up inside. In a way, the two of them were still strangers. They didn’t know each other fully yet; though Basil had proved himself to have read Dawson quite well and decipher who he was in a nutshell; but even so, that wasn’t nearly enough to say one knows a person.   
Basil groaned and placed his forehead on the palm of his paw just as the door opened and Mrs. Judson walked in from the other room. She had poked her head in, assuming the two mice were still asleep and when she found both Dawson and Basil awake, she sighed and shook her head. “Oh, Mr. Basil, I had hoped you would get more sleep just a few hours!” she fussed. Basil looked up at her impassively before turning his gaze back to his lap.   
Dawson shrugged, feeling the same sentiment. “I agree with you there, Mrs. Judson, but he refuses to go back to sleep.”   
Basil let out a frustrated snarl. “I can’t sleep! What part of this don’t you two understand?!”   
Mrs. Judson and Dawson just looked at him, neither knowing how to respond. It was then that the landlady’s sharp eyes landed on Basil’s bandages. She focused her question on the doctor. “Have you changed his bandages yet?”   
Dawson shook his head. “No, I was getting ready to though before you walked in.”   
Mrs. Judson nodded. “Good. I would hate for any of those to get infected.”   
Dawson sat down on the couch next to the sulking detective and readied his supplies. He then reached over to grab Basil’s right arm, which, after a moment in figuring out what he wanted, Basil gave to the doctor. Dawson was about to pull up Basil’s robe sleeve, when Basil flat out pulled his whole arm out of the sleeve, leaving the robe to hang strangely on his person. Half of his chest out in the open, the landlady and doctor could see the many bandages on Basil and could see spots of red from the blood on some of them.   
Basil hissed in pain when Dawson started peeling off some of the bandages for they were sticking to his fur and pulling on it. “Sorry, Basil…” mumbled the doctor as he disposed of the old bandage into a trash can that Mrs. Judson offered to him. The scratches underneath the bandages and fur were red and fierce looking since they were still so fresh and Basil’s fur was matted down and greasy looking from the ointments that had been placed on them. Upon seeing this, Dawson asked, “Would you like to take another bath before I put new ones on?”   
Basil shook his head in a negative and the doctor didn’t press the subject further. It was slow paced work yet it needed to be done. Basil, for his part, stayed in his own thoughts, grunting in pain every now and then. He didn’t want to see the scratches on his body; they were only a reminder of the damage Ratigan had done to him; more scars that would be permanently left on him. As though the memories weren’t bad enough he now had to endure physical scarring.   
For so many years he had tried to capture that villainous rat and see him behind bars and even though it finally seemed as though he had succeeded in doing so; something was simply not right about it. Things didn’t happen the way the detective had always suspected they would. Perhaps that was why; he had pictured everything differently. Perhaps he was being ridiculous and finding a problem when there really wasn’t one.   
Basil lightly shook his head and forced his mind to stop running a mile a minute. He wanted to stop thinking about the previous night  
Dawson had just finished placing the last bandage on his right arm and was prepared to move on to his next arm, when the door that led upstairs opened quietly. Basil had just pulled up the right side of his robe when Mr. Flaversham poked his head out of the doorway. His eyes immediately spotted the three other mice and he discreetly slid through the door and shut it behind him quietly. “Good morning, everyone” he greeted timidly. “I-I really do hate to intrude, but Olivia is thirsty and she can’t fall back asleep and—“   
“Oh, poor thing!” fretted out Mrs. Judson. “Here, let me get the dear thing a glass of water!”   
While Mrs. Judson hustled into the kitchen to fetch some water for Olivia, Mr. Flaversham took this chance to walk up to Basil and Dawson, who by now was working on Basil’s left arm. The toymaker fiddled nervously with his hands as he tried to figure out what to say. He was still wearing the same outfit from before since he and Olivia didn’t have any other clothes to change into. He adjusted his glasses upon his nose before finally managing, “I-I would like to thank you, Mr. Basil, for everything….you’ve done for Olivia and me.”   
Despite Basil’s dark mood, he still stayed professional about it. He braved the best smile he could muster, hoping it would be somewhat genuine. “Not at all, Mr. Flaverhanger—“   
“Flaversham” corrected Dawson quietly as he tossed an old and bloody bandage into the waste can. Basil shot him an annoyed look before turning back to Flaversham. “My mistake. Mr. Flaversham. I am happy to have helped you. Besides, had it not been for you and your daughter, I may not have been able to figure out Ratigan’s plan in time and I may have been too late in saving the queen!”   
Realization seemed to have clicked with both Flaversham and Dawson at this revelation. As the two other mice sat there in awe and thought about it all, Basil just sat there and watched. Dawson shook his head as he prepared a fresh bandage for a wound on Basil’s shoulder. “I say, that is true, isn’t it? It’s remarkable how things work out that way. I do believe it’s safe to say it was fate!”  
Basil rolled his eyes. “Fate? Come now, doctor, I would have believed you to be above believing in such things as fate.”  
“You don’t, Basil?”   
Basil shook his head at the doctor’s question. “Do not get me wrong, dear doctor; I do believe in fate, it is simply that I do not find myself constantly bowing at the whim of the idea that every little choice I make in my life is part of some grand scheme already written before us. I believe that we decide our own life and our choices and what happens, simply happens. Fate is also a way of describing the future and I have a difficult time in understanding the purpose of wasting one’s life in trying to understand their future when they should merely go and live it and find out for themselves…”   
The two other mice stood there and tried to figure out what Basil was trying to tell them. It was Dawson who spoke up first. “Basil, it sounds to me as though you dislike thinking about the future? Perhaps there is a reason for that?”   
Basil tried not to flinch at his question. He opened his mouth to formulate an answer when Mrs. Judson came back out from the kitchen with a glass of water in her hand. She handed it over to Mr. Flaversham, who happily accepted it. “Here you go, my dear. So sorry it took me so long. I have forgotten that Mr. Basil had used up all my fine soap the other day in one of his experiments and I had to find other means to clean the glass.” She glared purposefully at Basil before continuing. “And we had no clean glasses for the same said experiment.”   
Basil scratched the back of his neck innocuously. “Is there something you are trying to say, Mrs. Judson?” he asked her brazenly, already knowing the answer and making sure his expression showed it. She caught his green colored gaze and she knew he was silently challenging her. He had done this before. She pursed her lips and huffed.   
“I was simply explaining to Mr. Flaversham why I took so long in getting his daughter a glass of water.”   
Basil said nothing else and hissed once more in pain as Dawson took off another bandage. Mr. Flasverhsam looked down at the glass in his hands and politely said, “Well, anyways, thank you again, Mr. Basil.”   
Basil looked up at him. “Not a problem, kind sir. I was glad to help.”   
Flaversham nodded to both Dawson and Mrs. Judson before quietly leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. Mrs. Judson then busied herself in cleaning up the old bandages and cleaning up after the doctor.   
“Nice chap” commented Basil quietly.   
Dawson nodded. “I must agree…”   
The two mice sat in silence as Dawson continued to work on cleaning Basil up. Neither of them said anything nor did either of them know what to say. It still amazed Dawson that so much had taken place in such a short amount of time; it seemed like weeks ago that he had first stepped onto the streets of London after having just returned from Afghanistan.   
As time went on, Dawson noticed that Basil’s eyes kept getting heavier and the bags under his eyes seemed to darken by the minute. While he finished up the last of the bandages, he could see Basil sink back into the cushions of the couch and close his eyes. He didn’t wish to say anything, in fear that doing so would only wake him back up, so he just placed another blanket on top of him and watched as Basil slowly fell back asleep.   
Dr. Dawson slowly got up from the couch, collected all his first aid, threw away the old bandages, and walked over to the green chair in front of the fireplace in hopes to get his own rest.   
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Basil darted away as fast he could from the shadowy, beastly form of Ratigan as the two of them battled on the top of Big Ben. In the back of his mind he knew there was something wrong.   
Hadn’t he already lived through this? Hadn’t Ratigan fallen?   
“There is no escaping this time, Basil!” growled Ratigan before taking a slice at him. Basil winced as the pain became overbearing.   
Yes, he had already lived through this.   
Ratigan took another swipe at him.   
He had already felt this pain before. So why was he feeling it again? Why was he reliving this nightmare?  
Basil winced in pain as he held onto his left arm, which was bleeding profusely. He could feel the rain pouring down on them like needles and the eerie glow of the clock’s face shining down on them as they battled on the clock’s hand.   
Basil looked up at the blurred hulking shadow that he knew to be Ratigan and flinched when he saw that rat’s claw rise, yet instead of feeling the pain of another swipe of sharp nails, he was grabbed roughly by the chin and pulled close to the villain.   
He did not remember this. This had not happened in real life. What was happening? Was this a dream?  
Basil heard himself grunt as he tried to escape the rat’s vice-like grip on the underside of his chin, but he was unable to muster the strength to do it. He could feel himself being forced to look upwards into the yellow eyes of his foe.   
“You are mine, pipsqueak” snarled Ratigan before crudely pulling Basil closer and forcing his lips onto the detective’s. Basil tried with all his might to push away from him but found that he couldn’t. Ratigan was simply too strong for him. Just as Ratigan went to deepen the kiss further, he heard an unearthly loud knocking sound that scared him greatly and helped him manage to pull away from Ratigan.   
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Basil’s eyes snapped open and he gave a shout of surprise and fright as he bolted upright in his place on the couch, panting heavily from the nightmare he had just had. He flinched when the knocking sound came once more he all but fell off the couch.   
“Ooh….” He moaned as he placed a hand on his head. He could faintly hear Dawson walking up to the door and announcing he would answer it. Basil didn’t even bother looking at the door to find out who it was; he was too busy trying to get his frazzled mind away from the nightmare he had just been living in.   
Dawson opened the door and was surprised to see one of the queen’s soldier’s on the other side. He blinked at the tall officer who gave him a salute in welcome. “Good morning, sir!”   
Dawson, not entirely sure what was going on, since he himself had just woken up, scratched the back of his neck nervously and said, “Uh….Good morning to you….”   
“These letters are to be given to Mr. Basil of Baker Street and his assistant, Dr. David Q. Dawson.” He showed in his hands two creamed colored envelopes with the queen’s stamp on each. He could see his name written in cursive ink on one of them.   
“Assistant?” echoed Dawson curiously.   
“Is Mr. Basil of Baker Street at home?” asked the soldier.   
“I am here!” snapped Basil loudly as he rubbed his aching forehead. He was not in the mood for any of this. He wanted to get that nightmare out of his mind. As though he didn’t already have enough on his mind from the previous night, now he had another one to mull over. He did not wish to deal with people at his front door!  
The soldier at the door leaned in slightly so that he could see Basil for himself to verify. He then turned to Dawson, his tall black hat just barely skimming the top of the door. “Be sure Mr. Basil is given this envelope.” He handed it to Dawson. “Now, is there a Dr. David Q. Dawson here?”   
Dawson pointed distantly to himself. “Uh….That’s me.”   
The soldier dressed in red stuck his arm out and offered two letters to Dawson, who accepted them without comment. The doctor only looked at the envelopes as though they were foreign objects. The soldier then saluted and Dawson found himself doing the same thing, only more sluggishly. “Thank you. Good day to you, sir.”   
The soldier turned on his heel and left, leaving a baffled Dawson in his wake. Mrs. Judson came up from behind him and looked over the doctor’s shoulder. “What is it, doctor?”   
Dawson looked down at the letters. “They’re from the queen” he muttered as though in a daze. He looked over to where Basil was sitting and said louder, “Why would we get something from the queen?”   
“I would think the answer would be simple enough for you, old chap. We saved her life last night and this is her way of saying thank you” called over Basil as he pushed himself to the edge of the couch. He should have known something like this would happen. Not that it was a bad thing; by any means. It was an honor to be recognized by the queen herself. Basil just wished he was feeling better and was taking this whole thing better. He had hoped he would have been able to walk away from this case already; he did with all his other ones, but this one was different, he supposed.   
Dawson walked over to where Basil was sitting just as the door to upstairs opened once more. Olivia and her father stepped out of the room; both wearing the same clothes since they had none to change into.   
“Mr. Basil!” cried out Olivia in happiness. She saw that the detective was awake and doing well, for the last time she had seen him he was still be wrapped up and taken care of by Dawson.   
“Hush, dear….Mr. Basil is very tired and is still recovering from last night” he reprimanded her lightly. He took a hold of her hand to keep her from jumping over to the detective like he knew she wanted to.   
Basil was grateful Olivia’s father was there as he rubbed his temples, for he was certainly not in the mood for peeling off young children from his midsection. Basil was never the type of person to deal with children very well; particularly clingy children who liked jumping on his back when they’re overexcited and hugging him on a constant basis such as Olivia.   
Dawson walked down the few steps down from the door’s landing and into the living room, handing Basil his letter. The detective took it wordlessly and without meeting Dawson’s gaze. Dawson titled his head to the side and looked down at him with concern. “Basil, is everything alright?”   
Basil forced himself not to sneer. “It’s nothing, Dawson. I’m tired, is all.” He knew Dawson wouldn’t fall for it the moment the words left his lips.   
Dawson said nothing and turned away to open his letter. He once again needed to remind himself that it was not his place to tell Basil what to do. The two of them barely knew each other. It was a problem he had always suffered from; he always got so attached to his patients and other people he met in the streets. He was far too solicitous with his patients and those around him for his own good.   
Dawson sighed and tore open the letter. It was indeed a note from the queen. He read through the letter several times before finally turning back to look at Basil with wide and shocked eyes. He faintly noted that Basil had already opened his letter, read it, and tossed it on the couch beside where he was now lying. “She wishes for us to go to Buckingham Palace!”   
Basil nodded, his eyes closed. “Yes, we are to go there this afternoon at the earliest” he added.   
“That is quite an honor!” exclaimed Mr. Flaversham. Basil and Dawson had nearly forgotten the Flavershams were still there. Olivia looked up at her father.   
“It is daddy?” she inquired.   
Flaversham nodded. “Why, yes! To be recognized by the queen herself is quite an honorable thing! Not just anyone gets to meet the queen you know, dear.”  
“And Mr. Basil and Mr. Dawson get to meet her?”   
Basil made a face. “Technically we already met her, just not under the best of circumstances….”   
Dawson shrugged, recalling the memory of how he and the queen had helped tie up Fidget and Ratigan’s henchmen. At the time, he hadn’t really thought about the fact that he was in the presence of the Queen of England; everything had just happened so fast. It was a blur of events that he would forever try to remember properly.   
Olivia, finally able to become free of her father, rushed over to where Basil was on the couch. Though instead of jumping on him, like everyone, especially Basil, assumed she would do, she stopped before him and grabbed hold of one of his hands. “Basil?”   
Basil looked at the young girl in question, unsure of what was happening. He tensely opened his mouth, not knowing what to say. “Yes, Miss Flaversham?”   
Olivia smiled when he got her name right and said, “I….I just want to thank you….for saving my daddy’s life and….and mine….”   
All three adults in the room smiled at the young mouse before them. Basil gave her a fond smile and patted her on the head, ruffling the fluffy fur on her head. “It was a pleasure, my dear.”   
Olivia’s smile broadened and she leaned towards Basil, since she only came up to about his head due to her height, and gave him a sideways hug. Basil tensed under her touch before relaxing and accepting the hug; giving her one in return. When they parted he said quietly, “Thank you dear now…if you don’t mind….I would like to relax a bit longer….” Olivia nodded and walked back over to Flaversham.   
Mrs. Judson then walked up to him, appearing out of nowhere and startling them all. “I highly agree!” She brought over several pillows and blankets and started piling them around Basil. “Now, I presume you won’t be taking the liberty of shooting the feathers out of these fine pillows either, will you?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond. “I thought not! I’ll box your ears if you do and send you out to the street if you do! Rent payment or not!”   
Basil tried his best to push her away, grumbling the whole time, but it was a lost cause. Mrs. Judson refused to be dissuaded. “Mrs. Judson, that is quite enough!” he fussed, taking one of the red square pillows and tossing it to the floor. “I am perfectly alright! I only have some scratches and bruising! Nothing life threatening!”   
“Says you! You’ll catch your death with your body in this condition! Besides, if you plan on going to see the queen, you’ll have to present yourself more properly!” she reasoned.   
Basil muttered darkly for a moment before crying out, “Oh, for Heaven’s Sake! Would everyone just leave me alone?! I’m tired! I have a horrible headache! I can’t sleep without having ghastly nightmares and all of your fretting and worrying is driving me CRAZY!” He sat up at the end of his rant and threw his arms up in the air. He then turned around, curled up in a ball and laid there with his back turned to them.   
Mr. Flaversham pulled Olivia away and stepped further back and toward the room they were staying in temporarily. “Come, come, Olivia. Mr. Basil needed his rest. Let’s leave him be…” he whispered to her.   
Olivia looked hesitant to leave, staring at Basil with worry and concern before she allowed her father to guide her out of the room. The door shut quietly behind them while Dawson stood there uncertainly, a hand worrying his lip. He watched as Mrs. Judson placed her hands on her hips and shake her head. After a moment the landlady noticed Dawson’s worried look and smiled at him, “Don’t worry yourself, Dr. Dawson.” She sighed and looked back at Basil. “He gets into these fits. There are times when he just wants to be alone and isn’t satisfied until he gets it. Don’t be offended by him; that’s just the way he is.” She shrugged and picked up the pillow Basil had thrown earlier.   
“Oh, I’m not offended in the slightest” replied Dawson, minding to keep his voice low for Basil’s sake. “After all that he has been through in just the last twenty-four hours, it is only natural. Ratigan was his worst enemy after all, was he not? Post-traumatic stress is bound to happen, especially after having fallen so far off Big Ben only to land on the clock’s hand. Then be nearly shredded the way he was and have yet to fall again and catch the dirigible, and then fall again when Ratigan fell himself. It’s a wonder he’s not lost his mind in a panic!”   
Basil smiled from where he was on the couch, his face hidden from view. Count on Dawson to help portray his view of things. That was what he liked about Dawson; the good doctor just seemed to click with him. He seemed to understand somewhat what was going on in his brilliant mind whereas others would simply turn away and not even try. The detective frowned a moment later when he heard Mrs. Judson say, “Well, come then, Dr. Dawson. Let’s leave him be.”   
Despite what he had said, Basil honestly didn’t want to be alone; it only meant that the nightmares of his mind would come back with a vengeance. He flipped around to face them. “No!”   
Both doctor and land lady jumped at his sudden outcry.   
Basil stared at them for a moment while trying to think of an excuse. “I—Dawson has no place to sleep since the Flavershams are in the guest bedroom. He can stay out here with me.” He spoke more quietly and added, “I don’t mind Dawson staying with me…”   
Mrs. Judson and Dawson shared a look and both shrugged. “Have it your way Mr. Basil” huffed the lady mouse before leaving to head into the kitchen.   
Dawson stepped over to the couch where Basil was making room for him. “You don’t mind my company, Basil? But you seemed so upset a moment ago.”   
Basil shook his head as the two of them settled down to rest. “Hand me my pipe if you please, Dawson” He gestured to the table beside the couch and Dawson turned and saw it was lying there along with some matches. He handed the pipe and the matches over to his friend. Basil took his time in answering; lighting up his pipe and taking a few puffs from it before answering. “No, Dawson. I don’t mind your company.” He smiled and settled back into the cushions with a sigh of contentment.   
Dawson sighed and decided to leave at that, still too tired to bother understanding what Basil had meant by that statement.   
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Meanwhile, on the other side of town, there was a tea party taking place in one of the courtyards near the Hibston District. The sky was cloudy and it appeared to be a storm brewing in the distance, yet everyone in the party seemed to ignore the weather as they went about with their party. The party was taking place in the flower beds that surrounded a coffee shop and bakery that many humans were known for venturing into and getting pastries and scones to their delight.   
The flower beds were filled with roses, daffodils, and lilies; the bushes fresh and full. There were tables lined up the little opening between the bushes and flowers where there were some cobblestones and cement used as the main dining area.   
It was a high end tea party with mice both male and female dressed for the finest occasion. Women were dressed in their best Sunday clothes while the men wore shirts and ties.   
Chatter filled the dining area as waiters came by and offered more tea and crumpets. In the midst of the seating, there sat a young mouse with light tan fur and she wore a blue hat with flowers on one side. She wore a simple white dress with blue trimmings and blue shoes to match. She sat there with her friend and chatted as she slowly drank her tea.   
“Did you hear what happened last night?” her friend had asked her.   
The woman cocked her head to one side, “No. What happened?”   
“They say that Basil of Baker Street fellow foiled the Professor from killing the queen herself!”   
The lady in blue placed a hand over her mouth. Her fingers were decorated with rings. “Oh, my!”   
Her friend looked as though she wished to continue when a shadow overcame them and blocked the light from their table. Both of them looked up to see it was a tall mouse who was smiling down at them. He was dressed in a black suit with a red tie. “Hello, I was wishing to speak with your friend here for a bit.” He spoke to the blue lady’s friend.   
The other lady mouse flushed and giggled. “Oh, yes, I’ll just leave you two be!” She winked at her friend and quickly left.   
The lady in the blue dress looked down into her lap nervously as the mouse sat down in the white metal chair. “Your name is Renee Zondervan, is it not?”   
The girl blinked at him, surprised that he had gotten her name right. “Why, yes, it is” she replied in her meek high voice.   
The man took hold of her hand and kissed it. “My name is Zachery. I am an old friend of the family.”   
“Oh! It is a pleasure to meet you Zachery. How exactly do you know my family?”   
Zachery had darker fur and was average height for a mouse with a strong build. He had dark grey eyes that seemed to pull her in. “Oh, I used to know your cousin Prescott. I remember him from years back when he had been kidnapped. I was one of his friends who helped him through the trauma afterwards.”   
Renee nodded as she recalled the event that had happened to her cousin years ago. “Oh, yes. That was a troubling time for us indeed….”   
Zachery continued to hold her hand and looked at her sympathetically. “It a good thing that mouse had managed to find him in time. Of course, when I say ‘that mouse’ I am referring to who we now know as Mr. Basil of Baker Street.” He let go of her hand and leaned back into his chair. “And, of course, what he had done to save London last night….”   
Renee nodded. “Yes, my friend was just telling me of that.”   
A sparkle seemed to catch in Zachery’s eyes. “Yes, he stopped Ratigan from taking over London. It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” He smiled wickedly at her yet she didn’t notice how darkly he was looking at her now.   
Renee nodded. “Oh, yes! I could not imagine what would have happened had he taken over the queen’s ruling!”   
Zachery nodded and then looked up at the sky. “It looks as though it might rain.” Renee looked up at the sky as well and nodded. He took in a deep breath, “Well, I had best be off. I only wished to say hello.” He got up from the table and kissed her hand once more. “It was great seeing you.”   
Renee nodded. “It was great meeting you as well, Zachery!” she watched him go and as she took a sip of her tea, her friend walked back up to her, anxious and wanting to know all the details. Though just before her friend could open her mouth to speak, Renee glanced down at the middle finger of her right hand and gasped, spilling her tea in the process.   
“Goodness, Renee! Whatever is the matter?!”   
Renee could only stare at her hand in complete shock and dismay. Tears began to form into her eyes. “My ring! My emerald ring is missing! Oh, I only just now noticed! Who knows how long it’s been missing!! It’s a family heirloom!!”   
Renee’s friend went to her side and tried to comfort her the best way she could. Neither of them knew that this was the very start of one of the biggest and most dangerous cases Basil of Baker Street would ever encounter.   
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Author’s Note: Well, there is chapter 2! I have no idea when chapter 3 will be up. First I have to figure out what I want to have happen. Let me know what you all think! –EricaX 


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